


Rabbit Run

by Chicken_Broccoli_2013



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicken_Broccoli_2013/pseuds/Chicken_Broccoli_2013
Summary: Hoo-boy. This is part three of the Jonathan/Reader series I've been doing. This work is mostly a lot of substance and filler, which might put some readers off. I'm sorry, guys! If this one isn't your cup of tea, there's more of the good stuff coming. For those that have managed to last this long, please enjoy! As always, I highly value any feedback you can give me.
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper/Reader, Jonathan Byers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Rabbit Run

You sit stiffly in the front office, wringing your hands together. Soft elevator music plays in the background. The receptionist glances flatly at you occasionally. The silence is wearing on your already fried nerves. Well, it’s not exactly silent. You can hear the muffled yelling of Ms. Byers as she learns about her son’s crimes. You can hear him yelling back at her here and there, and his voice sends chills trickling down your spine. Nancy had left a while ago but Steve was in another room, going over the details of the crimes with the Chief. You jump as the door opens and Steve stumbles out, still looking like absolute shit. You run over and hug him as tight as you can, to which he responds with a groan. “God, Steve, I thought he was really gonna…”   
“Yeah. He almost did.” He collapses onto a folding chair beside you. “Forget about me. What about you, Y/N? Are you okay?”   
“Define okay,” you respond, and he barks a laugh. Before you can say anything else, the Chief comes up to you.   
“Y/F/N Y/L/N?” He asks, voice gruff but careful.   
You gulp. “Uh, that’s me, yeah…”   
He takes you back to an empty room with a large, wall-to-wall window on one side. You assume it’s a two-way mirror. Through the window you can see Jonathan, looking tired and furious. Almost rabid, even. Ms. Byers stands beside him, eyes red and puffy. You glance at the Chief questioningly. “Jonathan confessed to everything. Still insists you wanted it, but I saw you in that alley. I don’t believe him for a second.” He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, Y/N. He’ll be tried at the local court next week. Rape, aggravated assault, attempted murder. That should put him away for a long time.”   
You force a smile. “Thank god for that. And thank you, Chief—”   
“Jim. Or Hopper. I hate when people call me Chief.”   
You smile again, genuinely this time. “Well, thanks for all your help, Hopper.”   
“S’no big deal.” He shrugs. “Anyway, you’re free to go anytime.”   
You stand to leave, then turn back to him. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”   
He gives you half a smirk. “Unless you plan on skipping town, you’ll see me plenty.”   
****************************************  
Things have gone back to something resembling normal. Thank god Ms. Byers didn’t lose her job—or Will. Every time she sees you she showers you with affection, apologizing profusely for her son’s behavior. And every time you tell her there’s nothing to forgive.   
As for you, you’re trying to put the events since Halloween behind you. You’ve been working on a school project with Steve and even tried playing Dungeons and Dragons with Will and his friends. You and Nancy talk fairly regularly now. She’s a nice girl. You sigh, tapping your pencil on your homework as you sit at your desk. Something still feels…incomplete. There’s something missing in your life. You feel lonely, even surrounded by family and friends. Maybe it’s a secondary symptom of your time with Jonathan…but maybe not.   
You want a real relationship. Something that’s not painful or forced. You want to have sex when you want, with who you want. Perhaps you just want to make up for what was taken from you. Sex would be easy to find, but something real? Get out of town.   
**********************************   
It’s on every news station two weeks later: Jonathan Byers had been given twenty years at the local prison, with parole. You breathe a sigh of relief as Nancy picks you up for school. “You heard the news?” She asks as you glance out the window, admiring the first light snowfall of the season.   
“Yeah. They’re putting Byers away for a long time.” You turn back to her with a smile. “Thanks for helping me get through all this, Nance. I know I’m not the easiest person to be around right now…”   
She rolls her eyes. “You were raped. Twice. If that happened to me, I wouldn’t be easy to be around either.” She puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’m glad we met, Y/N. Things are only gonna get better from here, just watch.” You really want to believe her.   
Things go on fairly normally and time seems to fly by. Thanksgiving is gone in a flash and soon Christmas decorations adorn every light post and shop window. The snow falls thick and fluffy, like cotton. You take as much pleasure as you can in the little things: the crisp air stinging your cheeks, the laughter of children throwing snowballs…the fact that Jonathan isn’t here.  
You notice Hopper smoking outside the police station as you pass, and you hurry over to him. You’ve seen him a few times since the arrest. Damned if he isn’t the roughest man in town, but underneath that hard exterior is something you’re growing to like quite a bit. He gives you a nod as you approach. “Y/N. How’s it going?”   
You actually pause to consider the question. “You know, all things considered, I think it’s going pretty good. Maybe even…great.” You don’t want to jinx the situation, but your life does seem to be picking up for the first time in a long, long time.   
He puffs a long jet of smoke into the frigid air. “Glad to hear it. It’s always nice to see someone like you get a second chance.”   
“Yeah.” You fold your arms against the cold, glancing up at him. He’s much older than you—at least twice your age, probably. But he’s certainly not bad looking. A bit scruffy, maybe. He’d look good all cleaned up. The thought makes you smile.   
“So?”   
You blink, realizing you completely missed the last thing he said. “So what?”   
“There’s some kind of Christmas thing at the mall this evening. I’m taking El. Want to come with?”   
You swallow, trying to fight it as a flush creeps over your cheeks. Is he asking you out? The thought is immediately shrugged off. It is Christmas, after all. He’s just trying to be nice. Besides, you’re much too young for him. “Sure, I’d love to come.”   
******************************************   
You find yourself stopping by the station more and more frequently as the last of the year wears on. So much so that many of the staff offer you strange looks as you pass by. Sometimes you bring little treats, baked goods and such. Sometimes you just bring yourself. Either way, Hopper doesn’t seem to mind. He’ll invite you into his office and, if it’s a slow day, you’ll talk for a while. His dry humor makes you laugh. One time you actually snort in front of him, and he gives you the closest thing to a smile you’ve ever seen him give. You may not have a lot in common, but you both hate Jonathan Byers. For now, that seems to be enough.   
January rolls around and you find your hand in his. You’re staying at his house every Sunday and kissing his cheek every morning. El, who was cold and quiet around you at first, has started to warm up to you and will even wave when she’s out with Mike. You’re actually…happy. You tell this to Hopper one day, still in a state of shock as the words leave your mouth. He’s reading the paper as you sit in his lap. He brushes your hair out of your face. “Don’t question it, baby. Just enjoy it while it lasts. You never know when something could steal it all out from under you again.” Part of you begrudges his sour attitude, but part of you knows he’s right. You lay your head on his shoulder, watching as he reads. What could possibly mess things up for you now?   
***************************************   
Sometimes, when it’s late at night and Hopper’s not around, you drown in your feelings. You remember the man who was once your best friend. You look out into the night and could swear you see his slim figure wandering towards your house. In a rare occurrence, you even see Jonathan’s face in the daytime. You’ll pass by a shop window and see his reflection next to yours. You know many rape victims suffer from Post Traumatic Stress, and shrugs the visions off as such.   
School lets out for the summer and you couldn’t be more excited. What better way to banish those dark memories than with tanning lotion and sunshine? You almost don’t notice the familiar face as you walk past the local library. Almost. You turn around to see better, but the image is gone. You sigh. Another bout of stress, another trick of the light.   
You find a note on Hopper’s door: he’ll be gone for the weekend. Something to do with his ex-wife. You take it upon yourself to peek in on El. Make sure she’s not dead.   
Good news: the young teen isn’t dead. Bad news: she needs food and there’s none in your boyfriend’s whole goddamn cabin. You scrape up what little money you have and head to the grocery store. That’s where you hear the news.   
There’s been a riot at the local prison, and several prisoners have escaped. You know he’s one of them before you even see his face in the paper. Your stomach churns. He knows where you live, and you know damn well that’s the first place he’ll go. But it doesn’t matter where you hide, you’ll run into him in town eventually. You’re trapped.   
Or are you? Why should you hide like a scared rabbit, waiting for the big bad wolf to find you again? What’s stopping you from defending yourself? Your mind whirls. There’s a thrift shop not far from you house that sells all manner of knick knacks—including guns and knives. You set your jaw. You’re not going to be the victim anymore.   
***************************   
You’re as ready as you’ll ever be. The house is dark and deathly quiet. Mousetraps litter the floor and fishing line runs across the hallways as a makeshift tripwire. You’ve got a knife in your hand and a fire in your gut. You certainly wouldn’t win any awards for home defense, but you’re ready. You hope.   
The night wears on painfully. You jump and any hint of a noise, any sign of movement. You’re shaking slightly, nerves frayed like wires, eyes dry from being forced open. There’s no sign of him. Were you wrong? Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, he’d been caught already. You lean against your front door, shifting your knife from hand to hand. Maybe you ought to get some sleep…yeah, sleep. You can’t fight the devil half-awake, after all. Your eyelids start to droop against your will. The knife slips from your hands, almost cutting you as it clatters to the floor.   
Then you hear it: the faintest sound, like a breath or a hum. The tripwire. Instantly you’re wide awake again, grabbing your weapon and tiptoeing towards the sound. The wire vibrates just barely, almost humming. You follow it until you reach your backdoor, still closed. For a moment you sigh with relief—then you see a small wrench and a pick lying neatly on your countertop. He’s here, and he’s taunting you. You slip the wrench into your pocket; you never know what could be useful as a weapon in the future.   
His tracks are easy to follow. Every little picture and keepsake you have is just a hair out of place. Your skin crawls knowing that he’s delved even deeper into your personal life. At this point, what doesn’t he know about you?   
You nearly jump out of your skin as the stairs creak. He’s going up to your room, taking his sweet time. And why should he hurry? He’s got all night to play with you. The floorboards creak above you as you near the staircase. You draw your knife, back to the wall, and let the wrench fall onto the stairs. The footsteps above you stop mid-creak. “Y/N?” He calls out as casually as if he’d stopped by for a cup of sugar. You inhale swiftly, clutching the knife to your chest. He comes down the stairs with an air of nonchalance that makes your blood boil. “C’mon, Y/N, it doesn’t have to be like this.” Five steps…four….two…   
One. You lunge out with your knife, not even aware of the rabid scream that leaves your lips. There’s a soft, wet thump and a gasp. Jonathan falls back against the wall, knife protruding at an awkward angle from his stomach. You hope you’ve hit something vital. You watch numbly as he staggers, blood leaking sluggishly from the wound. He coughs out something that almost sounds like a laugh. “Nice try, sweetheart. Try going for something vital next time.” You feel rage snaking from your clenched hands through your entire body. You can’t even make eye contact with him.   
“Was that your whole plan? Just draw me out and try to stab me? You have to admit that’s not very creative. You could have at least—” He rolls his eyes. You’ve bolted. He heads to your bathroom and carefully bandages the wound. You’re pretty fast for such a little thing, but you’re not smart. He knows where you’re headed.   
****************************   
What’s gotten into you? You don’t know. All you know is, when your (albeit pathetic) plan didn’t work, you ran for your life. Your only two viable options were the police station or the forest behind your house. The station was much to far to reach on foot, though. So you bolted into the back woods as fast as your legs could carry you. The trees and brush flash by. You have no plan or direction. Run. Run. Run. Eventually he has to get tired, right? Eventually you’ll get away….  
Even your rabbit-panicked brain knows that’s not the truth. You collapse onto the damp ground, well beyond the point of exhaustion. What are you going to do? Hide? Climb a tree or something? You crawl through the ferns and low-growing bushes, breath rasping like sandpaper over your throat. You crawl until the undergrowth begins to give way, opening up into a clearing. Your hands tremble. You can barely move another inch. Hell, you can barely see the ground in front of you, your head is spinning so much. You pause and look up as shade falls over your shaking form. You’ve reached…a building? The short, dilapidated thing only has a single floor. It squats in the middle of the forest like it’s always been there—like it’s even older than the trees. For one shining second you think there might be people in there, but it’s much too far gone for that. Who knows what might be in there, though? Weapons? Water? A portal to another world? Maybe all three. You stumble to your feet and head through the overgrown metal door.


End file.
